


Just another day in Texas

by ThreeMagpies



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Mild Smut, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, charloe - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:07:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24146377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThreeMagpies/pseuds/ThreeMagpies
Summary: A Revolution fic:  Bass Monroe/Charlie Matheson, Miles Matheson, Tom Neville, Jason Neville. Charloe; Blackout AU set just after S2. A frustrated and bored with civilian life Bass leaves Willoughby searching for a way to get a certain blue eyed, tight assed, opinionated blonde out of his dreams. What he doesn’t know is that Charlie has been tracking and watching him for weeks because watching him keeps her own demons at bay.
Relationships: Charlie Matheson/Bass Monroe
Comments: 40
Kudos: 52





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Loveforthestory](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loveforthestory/gifts).



> Author’s note:  
> Hi there, it’s been a while but this one wanted to come out. Thanks so much for having a look, and big thanks to LoveForTheStory for gifting me a prompt that totally set the stage for this story. Wishing you a very very late happy birthday, Love and I hope you like what I've done with your lovely prompt xx Stay safe everyone… 

Sebastian Monroe was bored.

The Patriot conspiracy to take control of the country had been stopped in its tracks, ex-would be President Davis was in an Austin jail waiting execution and Texas was running everything in solid gold Lone star style.

Life should be just peachy.

But Miles was busy toeing the line for Rachel and with no action worth a mention except for rumours of something weird happening in a do-nothing town called Bradbury, civilian life was way too slow for a certain other ex-President, even with women lining up for a chance to bone a bona fide hero. 

So he kissed his latest close acquaintance a quick goodbye, made a vague and totally false promise to see her again soon and after a quick look up and down the road to make sure the coast was clear waved her out the front door into the dawn and back to her husband. 

A perfect gentleman. 

He shrugged, shut the door and leaned back against it, the painted wood smooth and cool against his shoulders and bare butt. If he was truthful, he didn’t give a flying fuck about them or their husbands or boyfriends, he was just trying to get the one he really wanted out of his system. Problem was, it hadn’t worked worth a damn no matter how many other women he fucked. The way her blue eyes flashed fire at him through strands of long, dirty blond hair and the sound of that stupid chain belt jingling on her fine, fine ass each time she walked away from him still haunted his dreams.

He paused at the bottom of the stairs as a thought hit him like the proverbial brick, one hand on the rail and the other absently scratching an itch under his balls. He’d had enough of hanging around hoping that somehow, someday she’d look his way. It was time to grab his crap and his horse, head out of town and find himself some patriot deserters in need of killing. It probably wouldn’t get her out of his head, but at least it’d give his dick a rest, and his swords were getting rusty he hadn’t used them in so long.

He sniffed his fingers, raised an eyebrow then started up the stairs, feeling happier than he had in days. Bath first, definitely. Then coffee, then his crap and his horse. 

Sounded like a plan. 

……………………….. 

Charlie Matheson watched the woman leave from her perch behind the chimney stack on the roof of the house across the road. She’d seen the kiss too, and the view she’d had of a naked Monroe in the doorway had made the difficult climb totally worth it, because hey, gorgeous naked man. It had been weirdly disturbing too though because hey, gorgeous, naked Monroe. 

She’d almost fallen off the roof.

But apart from that, something felt different about him this morning. She just couldn’t quite put her finger on what it was. Not yet anyway. 

She’d been watching his every move for weeks now. She knew what he had for breakfast, when he took a dump and when he did his laundry as well as the kind of women he liked (blondish, slim but curvy), hell she even knew that he went commando because there were no underpants on the line, like ever. She knew him, and was watching him because for sure and certain it was only a matter of time until Sebastian Monroe jumped off the good guy wagon. 

Admitting to any other possible reason for her increasingly obsessive interest in the former number one on her kill list would be very, very bad. 

She was the one who brought him back here from New Vegas so he was her responsibility. That’s all it was. It was her job to watch him, to make sure he didn’t do something they’d all end up regretting and she had a major hunch today was the day. 

She raised her binoculars, from this angle she could just see in the first floor windows.

He was moving around, a lot, looked like he was packing? Seemed like her hunch was right on the money. And a short time later when she saw him lock up the house, load up his horse and ride out on along the road out of town, she knew what she had to do. 

She slid down the roof, ran home, thought about writing a note for Miles and her mom in case they happened to call by but couldn’t find anything to write on so she just grabbed her crap, saddled her horse and followed him.

………………………………

Three days later.

From her cover behind the corner of an old barn, Charlie watched Monroe hobble his horse on a good patch of grazing near the little stream that ran through the woods, stroll back to his fire, casually stack a couple of logs on the coals and tuck himself into his bedroll. 

Her lip curled. The moon was huge and full, the night clear and almost as bright as day and smoke from his fire rose like it was giving the fucking finger to the sky. Monroe might as well have been yelling ‘here I am’ to anyone watching. 

If anyone was watching. 

Which they weren’t. 

She knew that because she’d ridden a two mile radius around the two camps to make sure, same as she had the last three nights since they left Willoughby. 

But Monroe hadn’t done a thing. After each day’s ride he’d just cooked himself up some beans or whatever then gone to bed like he didn’t have an enemy in the world. 

To be honest, she was a bit disappointed. 

She rolled her eyes and headed on back to her own camp under the trees a few hundred yards away out of his sight and hearing. 

Not that he’d notice if it was. 

Out of long habit she kept to cover from tree to bush to tree all the way back and only when she was dead sure it was clear, stepped carefully over the trip rope and traps that she’d set up around the camp perimeter. 

Her mare looked up and whickered softly, the shiny bay coat and dark points blending her outline back into the trees, only her white blaze floating against the dark and big, brown eyes gleaming in the moonlight. Charlie went up to her and ran a hand down the long face, tickling the soft nose. Then she led her off to some fresh grazing. Someday she’d think of a good horse name, just hadn’t been able to yet. Giving something a name just meant it hurt more when you lost it. 

She patted the muscular rump then curled an arm over the broad, strong back, burying her nose in the long, thick strands of dark mane, enjoying the clean, healthy smell of horse and torn grass and the feel of warm, smooth hide on her skin. Leaning in, she basked in the mare’s calm strength and let herself relax for just a short, sweet moment then stood back up. Horses were quiet and peaceful. Good company. 

A whole lot better than some. Her eyes drifted back to Monroe’s camp. 

She let go, fingers lingering. Then going back to her small, neat pile of gear, Charlie grabbed a strip of jerky, a half full bottle of whisky and some raisins from her saddlebags and settled in for the night leaning back on her saddle with binoculars trained on the glow that was Monroe. 

Maybe tomorrow she’d light a fire. She’d been worried he’d notice if she did, but by the looks he wouldn’t notice if the sky fell on his head. 

Her tongue dipped out to wet suddenly dry lips. Through the lenses he was close, close enough that she could see the way that his lips opened just a little with each breath and the fluttering shadows of his eyelashes as he dreamed. He had long, golden lashes, and yeah, he was even better looking asleep than when he was awake. 

Shit. 

Charlie mentally kicked her own ass, hard. She’d made a promise that she wouldn’t look too long at his face tonight, or at the way the muscles on his arms and chest bunched and flexed when he moved or how his skin gleamed gold in the firelight. Or the way he always kicked the blanket off halfway through the night, his legs spread wide and so damn long in the old jeans that was all he slept in.

The memory of seeing him standing tall and totally naked in that doorway flashed through her brain like one of Nora’s bombs going off, taking her breath clean away as every vivid, masculine detail sent sparks zooming through her veins. 

She grabbed for the whiskey. 

A good slug from the bottle later and with the binoculars firmly fixed on anything but him, she wasn’t anywhere near tired and sleep just wasn’t happening. Again. But that wasn’t new, she didn’t sleep much these days. 

Too many bad dreams. 

Much better to have something to do, to think about. Like what he was really doing out here? What was he up to? And why did he keep on saving her? 

Like that day by the train when Neville had come so close to shooting her brains out. He and Neville had actually been working together but he’d changed his mind and gone up against Neville to save her. And why had he looked at her like he did afterwards? Like he actually cared. Because if he did, then why had he been fucking every available woman in town since and not even come near her?

Men were impossible. And why did it matter anyway? She had a job to do. Monroe was hers, she brought him, she’d saved him too and if he needed killing, no one else was going to get to do it. 

She shimmied herself into a better position and focused. 

………………………………………………


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s note:   
> Hi there, and thanks heaps for coming back – hope you enjoy this bit, final chapter will be up in a few days. Stay safe… 

Time passed and morning crept up almost without her noticing. Charlie blinked away the glare as the sun found a sudden path through the trees in a burst of golden dazzle. She shut her eyes for a couple of seconds to adjust, then sat up, put the binoculars down on the grass, stretched tight muscles and cleared her throat, easing the dry with a long, sweet swallow from her bottle. 

A picture of Miles doing the same thing popped into her head and her lips twisted. Monroe had called her mini Miles once and maybe he was right? People didn’t call her the town drunk like they had him, until he got together with her mom anyway, but that was only because they didn’t know, didn’t see. They thought she was a bit crazy though, she knew that, she’d heard Aaron and Grandpa talking about it. They were worried about her.

So what. She knew how to keep her stupid under control. Mostly.

It was none of their business anyway. She understood exactly why Miles drank now. It helped soften the edges, ease the pain, made the dreams easier to brush away and it was a whole lot better than running around screaming or slitting her wrists like her mom did. She tossed back the last drops, relishing the burn, the heat in her throat, the rush of warmth in her belly, glad she had plenty more in her pack. 

Then she checked on Monroe. He was up. 

Time to get moving.

………………………………

Bass Monroe sat back against his saddle, yawned, settled one booted foot over the other and took his time over breakfast. There was no reason to hurry and no reason to worry much either, not with his little blond watchdog on duty. 

Unless she was planning to kill him again of course, although that didn’t seem to be the deal. He’d given her plenty of chances and she hadn’t tried yet. 

He chuckled. Did she really think he didn’t know she was following him? His brow creased as he thought back to Willoughby, the sense that sometimes there were eyes on him. Had she been tracking him there too? Watching him? It was highly likely, damn her Matheson persistence. 

The crease turned into a frown, something stirring inside that he almost didn’t recognise. Shame maybe? Regret? But mixed in with that was more than a chunk of dark, carnal excitement when he thought of what she could’ve seen him do during all that watching. Those blue eyes of hers seeing every fuck? In no positions barred technicolour? The thought of it was enough to make him hard as the rocks he’d been lying on last night. 

She was no innocent flower he knew that, was glad of it, this world had no use but the worst for innocents. She was strong. One of the strongest. He liked that. Look at the way she stood up to Gould and Duncan in New Vegas. Getting herself free from one of Gould’s party wagons and then staying to save him and Connor when she could’ve run to save herself? That took guts. Not to mention convincing Duncan to give her some fighters. Her. Not him. The men only took orders from her. 

He was still a bit conflicted about that little detail. 

And the thing between her and Connor. 

Didn’t want to think too badly of the dead though. Duncan was dead for sure but what had happened to Connor? There’d been no word from him, no message. Nada. He quickly shut that thought away, he didn’t want to think about Connor at all, not yet anyway. 

Then there was Tom Neville. Charlie had faced up to the smiling, conniving bastard too. Scared out of her wits but still standing, still brave. He’d made his choice in that railway yard for her. 

Not Miles. Her. 

Bass drained his coffee and put the mug down with a thump. Something deep inside him wanted her to see him as more than just a drunk fighting for coin in a whorehouse. 

He winced. The accusation she’d flung at him in that empty pool still had the power to sting. He shrugged it off. It didn’t matter anyway. There was a snowball’s chance in hell that she’d ever see him as anything different, or that he’d get the chance to do some of the things with her that she’d been so damn curious about. 

So what did she want ? 

……………………………….. 

By the time he got going on the road and heading up a long, sloping hill the sun was at two o clock on another shiny day in Texas. 

It felt good to be moving, good to be away from all the shit and politicking and out in the open air with the wind on his face, a fine horse strong and eager between his legs and swords swinging at his hips. A grin softened the lines of his face and made him look younger. His dreams had been full of blue eyes and long, tangled blond hair that clung to his skin and full lips that had done magical things to parts of him that were still buzzing.

He shifted in the saddle, making room… 

He didn’t think she dreamt of him though, at least not last night anyway. He’d felt her eyes on him up until the moment he fell asleep and again when he woke and it’d been the same the last two nights since they left Willoughby. 

She didn’t seem to sleep much but then maybe she had reason. She’d been through a hell of a lot. Was still going through it, he’d seen the look in her eyes. Had seen the same look in his mirror and in the faces of too many others to count. In the old days they’d have called it PTSD. Now it was just the way life was.

But what else was going on inside that complicated brain of hers? 

He shrugged, lips twisting in a wry grin. Whatever it was he was glad she’d decided to come along for the ride because he definitely wasn’t bored anymore.

He pushed his horse into an easy trot up the hill and over the crest. Down below I135 was laid out like a rapier scar across the landscape heading off towards the horizon, disappearing into a haze of woods and broken dreams. The bitumen surface was crazed and lifted, the cracks sprouting a crop of weeds and trees with the skeleton carcasses of cars, trucks and RV’s littered along the road like they’d been left there by some oversized kid who’d never come back for his toys.

An overhead sign for Waco and Fort Worth was bent but still standing. The letters were faded and full of bullet holes but as Bass read them a memory surfaced from long, long ago when the sign had been perfect, life had been much, much faster and women much easier to understand. 

He’d been driving with Miles, laughing, making plans for a future that never happened because not long after that, the world changed forever and somehow he’d found himself in the middle of everything. 

Damned Mathesons. 

Except for her. She was different.

As he rode down the hill, he was careful to ride where there was cover close by for Charlie. Didn’t want to make her work too hard. Not out of kindness, damn it he wasn’t that soft, but sometime very soon it was going to be time for him and Charlie to have a little chat and he wanted her awake and rested when that happened.

He could feel her behind him now, her eyes hot on his back. His lips curled into a smug smile that he didn’t care if she saw. 

It was a good day to be alive.

……………………………..

He’d been going for about an hour when he realised she wasn’t behind him anymore. The old sixth sense that told him when someone had eyes on him was telling him that now there wasn’t.

He kept going but slowly, eyes on the woods to either side, checking things out, heading casually for the nearest cover, his right hand resting casually on the rifle in its saddle holster just in case, the skills that had kept him alive all this long fucking time on full alert. But there was nothing, no one.

Then he heard something. A horse. Just one, moving through the brush off to the side of the road behind and on his left, its movements irregular, undisciplined. No rider then, or an incapacitated one. 

He stopped that thought in its tracks.

A whinny came out of the trees, the sound of a lonely horse wanting company and knowing there was a friend ahead.

His own horse chuffed back a welcome. 

Bass sucked in a sharp breath, rifle out and aimed almost without his thinking about it, the barrel dropping back down into the holster with a snick as a good looking bay mare trotted out from the tree line towards them, saddle bags and pack still in place but the saddle empty, reins dragging on the ground and the stirrups flapping in the breeze. 

What the hell?

It was Charlie’s, he knew it, a pure bred quarter miler out of Blanchard’s own stable. They’d each got one, gifts for services rendered to the Sovereign state of Texas. Bass was riding his and as his gelding reached out a nose to greet the newcomer the possible reasons for that empty saddle came flooding in to scare the crap out of him with flashes of Pottsboro, young Neville, Tom Neville, New Vegas, all the times she’d nearly gotten her pig headed, argumentative, stubborn self killed.

What was it this time? Was she captured? There were plenty of enemies around, deserters, clan remnants, shitheads like that, although he hadn’t seen any sign of anyone else and she was careful, he knew that for sure. But they’d have taken her gear too, unless they couldn’t catch the mare… or had she been knocked off her saddle and broken that beautiful neck? 

Something inside him cracked open at the thought of that.

He tethered the mare to his saddle on a long line and kept going towards the trees, eyes searching the ground, the brush, even up in the trees for a net trap, all the time hoping against hope that she’d come walking out of the woods towards him with her hair in a wild tangle, that damned belt jingling and her eyes stormy, furious at being found out. 

But she didn’t. 

He called her name again and again but she didn’t answer.

Grim faced, worried and pissed too because this was not how today was supposed to fucking happen, he followed the mare’s tracks back to where he’d last felt her eyes on him and searched a half mile in every direction but there was no sign of her. None. He checked every broken down shack, ruin and hole in the ground he came across too, remembering what had happened to Miles after the fuck up in Austin. Then, even though he knew it was probably useless, he kept going right back to where she’d camped for the night but there was no sign of her there either. 

No sign at all. No clue. Nothing.

The sun was hot on his face but he suddenly felt cold.

Shit.

……………………………….


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s note:   
> Hi there and thanks so much for liking this and for your lovely comments. I am really enjoying revisiting Bass, Charlie and the Revo world and my 'one more chapter' has turned into two lol so hope you don’t mind, finale up as soon as I can. Cheers, best wishes and stay safe… 

Looking out at the road through the dirty windows of the truck stop diner, Tom Neville ran a dirty hand over the thick pepper and salt stubble on his cheeks and chin. No sign of Monroe yet. There was time for a shave. He’d found a razor still in its wrapper on a shelf by the checkout and this was an important day. He should look his best. He glared down at the bloodstains trailing down the front of his shirt and scraped at one with a fingernail but it wouldn’t budge. Damn. There was no time to wash anything and he didn’t have a change. He’d have to take care of that once he finished here. 

The glare faded, a smile curving the full lips. Everything was working out the way Jason said it would. Jason could be trusted. Not like some. Monroe’s boy had deserted, said something about going back to Mexico, away from all the shit. A snivelling turncoat just like his father. 

Jason was different. He was smart, focused, loyal. A good son. 

But where was he? Neville frowned, eyes darting around the room, searching, confusion like a mist clouding his sight. ‘Jason? Jason? Where are you?’ Damn it, his voice sounded hoarse and rusty. Weak. He cleared his throat and reached for his water bottle. It wouldn’t be good to sound weak in front of Monroe, not good at all. 

‘I’m right here dad.’ 

And he was, of course he was. He was smiling, those brown eyes were clear and calm with echoes of Julia around the mouth, the clean lines of his jaw. He’d been here all the time, just hadn’t looked hard enough, that’s all. 

Neville relaxed. ‘Good, that’s good. He took a moment to take in the tall, strong, handsome man his son had grown into then turned to go to the bathroom. ‘I’m going to have a shave. You watch the road, don’t want Monroe sneaking up on us.’

He didn’t wait for an answer, didn’t need one. Jason always knew what was needed. Did whatever he asked, whatever it took. Just like Julia. He blinked, lost as between one footstep and the next a bottomless chasm opened up beneath his feet and the world shattered into a million jagged shards of Julia, broken, starved, ragged, her eyes wide and hopeless in a photo that he didn’t want to remember, refused to remember because she was his to protect and he’d failed. And Jason was dead too, wasn’t he? Killed by the Matheson girl, although he’d never actually seen a body, so maybe it wasn’t true? But what if it was? Then how could Jason be here? 

He shook his head. Everything was mixed up, it was difficult to remember, hard to think straight. It wasn’t like him to be so confused. What was he missing? What the hell was happening?

‘Dad, are you ok?

He blinked again and shook himself like a dog, the shards and spars of doubt vanishing like smoke. The smile returned to his face, the confidence to his eyes. Of course he was ok, because Jason was right here. He nodded. ‘Yeah, I’m fine, just going to have a shave, you keep watch.’ He turned and headed to the men’s bathroom, his steps sure and certain this time. 

Inside the bathroom by the diffuse afternoon light flooding in through the frosted glass of the bathroom window Neville patted his face down with water from his bottle and lathered up with a dried up sliver of soap someone had left on the sink years ago, his eyes skating over the thin, haggard face and tired eyes reflected in the mirror. The familiar ritual of shaving was soothing and as he worked over his skin with the blade with every stroke he looked and felt calmer, confident, more himself. 

Soon, the new smooth face in the mirror smiled the smile that had made him so good at selling insurance, that had charmed people into doing whatever he wanted, buy whatever he wanted them to buy. He’d been softer back then though. Too soft. Lost his job by being too nice to someone. But things were very different now, these days he didn’t need the smile. He flicked at the blood on his shirt. These days there were other options. 

He finished off, patted his face dry with a sleeve and went back out, humming an old song as he wound his way back through dusty tables and fallen chairs to where his son waited by the windows. He and Jason had a plan. It was a good one and it’d work, even against Monroe. 

Jason had said that Monroe knew the girl was following him and that he’d come look for her if he thought she was in trouble. For love of Miles of course, trying to get him back in harness and away from that prize bitch Rachael Matheson. 

Neville’s lips twisted, the smile turning scornful, then a new idea occurred to him. 

Could it be that Monroe would do it for the girl? For some reason she seemed to have all the men around her sniffing at her honey ass. Even Jason had fallen into the trap although that didn’t matter now, that little infatuation had obviously burnt itself out. Jason had led his old dad straight to the little bitch’s campsite and helped him follow her until the right moment came along to grab her. It had been Jason’s idea to send her horse out to Monroe too and that’d worked like a charm. 

Without his son, Tom Neville would still be wandering around the map like some lost puppy.

‘I was right about the rest too, Dad,’ Jason nodded towards the road. ‘Like I said, Monroe tracked her back to her campsite, found the trail we left and he’s coming. He’ll be here soon.’

Neville nodded, the small part of his mind that was wondering how Jason could possibly know what he was thinking or could be so certain that Monroe was on his way dismissed without a thought. ‘And we’ll be ready for him.’ 

He glanced over at the hogtied and gagged figure slumped on the floor in the back corner of the room. She was still unconscious. Good. They needed her quiet, for now anyway. Later? Well... 

They had the girl and soon they’d have Monroe, and Monroe was the reason why everything had gone wrong, why he couldn’t be with Julia, why Jason was... The chasm started to open again beneath his feet but this time he ignored it. It was a lie. It had to be. 

Soon he would have his revenge on Sebastian Monroe and it would be sweet. And the girl? She was just an added bonus.

……………………………..

Charlie woke to find her mouth stuffed with a ball of foul tasting cloth. 

Shit. 

Instinctively she tried to spit the gag out, pushing it out with her tongue but her mouth hurt so much she had to stop, her lips stretched tight by the strip of rag holding the gag in, strands of her hair pulling whenever she moved too, stinging her scalp where they were caught, her breath catching and tears springing to her eyes with the pain. 

The rest of her head hurt more though, hurt bad, the pain centred above her left ear, the skin there tight with the familiar stickiness of dried blood. Her eyes ached too, stinging like fuck when she tried to open them, in fact every single cell in her body felt like it had been stomped on and ground in. 

She lay still, not wanting to give away that she was awake, tried moving her hands but the ropes tied around them were too tight, her back bent like a bow, shoulders and thighs straining. Her legs were tied from the knees down, ankles tied to her wrists so she couldn’t straighten out… Damn it, whoever had tied her up had done a good job of it, and the thought of some strangers hands roving around her body made her want to puke. 

An overwhelming urge to scream out her outrage and fear had her choking for breath around the gag, her nostrils flaring as she desperately tried to control it but somehow she stuck it out, made it through, pulled herself back, almost surprised that she could although this wasn’t her first time in this kind of deep shit, not by a long shot. 

She took a deep breath, as deep as she could, then forced herself to stay still and ignore the pain, ignore the gag in her mouth, ignore the fact that she was tied up and helpless, that someone had her prisoner and was probably planning to do something worse to her. Fuck. Ignoring flashbacks to Pottsboro, that pool, Gould’s revolting caravan, all the times she had nearly… 

Taking long, slow breaths in and out through her nose, she counted slowly in, slowly out, one, two, three…one, two three… again and again and again until she think without her brain shrieking. Because she couldn’t think of a way out of this one and no one was coming to help her this time. Miles and her mom didn’t know where she was and Monroe? He’d come if he knew, probably. He had before. But he didn’t know, how could he? He thought she was back in Willoughby.

She was on her own.

She cautiously opened her eyes then quickly shut them again as light slammed against her retinas. Where was she? Who’d done this to her? 

Now that her heart had stopped thudding so loud it drowned out everything else, she could hear a voice, a man, talking to someone else? Her eyes flew open and she forgot about caution, forgot about the pain, forgot everything else because what she heard chilled her to the bone. 

It was Tom Neville. Damn, why did it always have to be him? And how did he find her? 

But how could he be talking to Jason? 

Jason was dead.

………………………………

‘Whoa… ‘ The horses stopped, obedient and Bass lifted his binoculars. There was an old diner half a mile up ahead just back off the road and something about it raised all his hackles at once, every instinct he had yelling that this was it. 

He left the two mounts ground tied on some grazing out of sight of the diner and kept going on foot, taking cover behind the big rusted wreck of one of the trucks parked in the big open lot. The place looked abandoned, but that didn’t mean anything. Eyes peeled, he moved forward, going from cover to cover, truck to truck.

Someone, and he was pretty sure he knew who now because kidnapping was just his style, had hurt her and left a trail for him. He’d found it after backtracking from Charlotte’s camp site to the place he last felt her eyes on his back and he’d followed the traces of blood smeared here and there on a branch or a leaf, the strips of fabric from her clothes caught on a twig or trodden into the ground and glimmering strands of long, blond hair floating like trophies from the trees. 

All leading him here. 

She was brave and courageous and he’d seen her make it alive and kicking butt out of situations that would break a lot of others, but if she’d managed to escape like she did in New Vegas, he’d know it by now. She’d have tracked him down just to get her horse back.

So Tom still had her.

For a moment, blind, unreasoning fury threatened to take him over at the thought that she could already be dead, or worse, because Tom had a total hard on for killing her. Then the familiar, soldier’s battle ready clarity swept over him, leaving him calm, able to think, to plan. 

She was alive, for now anyway. He was sure of it. Because the only person Tom Neville would want to kill more than Charlie Matheson was Sebastian Monroe and the chance to finish what he’d tried to do back at that railway yard and finish Bass at the same time would be impossible to resist.

Tom would want to kill her in front of him, then kill him. 

The fury turned into steel edged determination to get her back.

Then he was going to bury his swords in Tom Neville’s heart. 

……………………………


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s note:   
> Hi there and thanks so much for liking this and for your lovely comments. And this isn’t the end!! Things kind of took off lol and there’ll be another chapter after this one (the comfort chapter ;) ) Cheers, love and peace. Stay safe… 

For what felt like forever, Charlie drifted in and out of an uneasy sleep. Awake once more she tried to straighten her shoulders, her hips, her neck for the hundredth time just to get some relief but there wasn’t enough give in the ropes and the screeching need to straighten her back was torture. She hadn’t been able to loosen or wriggle out of a single knot… A groan escaped her lips and she closed her eyes again, trying to shut everything out.

Tom Neville. That gloating voice whispered in her nightmares along with the feel of the hard, cold steel barrel pressed hard against her temple and then the click of an empty gun. He’d meant to kill her at the safe house and it was just fate, luck, whatever you want to call it, that he didn’t. He’d meant to kill her at the rail yard too and Monroe had stopped him there. Monroe… 

A vivid memory flashed across her mind of Sebastian Monroe bursting in through that locked door back in Pottsboro, his eyes blazing into hers, his swords slashing through those men one by one, the thought of it making her heart pound, her face flush, making her almost forget where she was. 

That made three times he’d saved her life, if you counted the Tower. 

He’d saved her, over and over again. From being her enemy he’d somehow become her rescuer. Even though she’d tried to kill him in New Vegas, had said those things to him in that pool and then just walked away from him. He’d rescued her when he didn’t have to, when he could’ve just kept going, gone somewhere far away where no one knew him, kept himself safe. But instead of that he’d gone with her to Willoughby, back to Miles and more fighting. Where her mom got him executed.

She winced, remembering seeing him in a cage, the sound of a bell tolling and the lost look on Miles’ face when he thought Monroe was dead. She’d never forget the feeling of him being gone. All that energy and life, gone. Him, gone. And then because her mom listened to someone else for once in her life he came back. She’d never forget how that felt either... or how he’d looked lying on that old mattress, smiling like a kid because he was still high on the drugs her mom had given him. 

Even now that made her feel like smiling, inside anyway.

And after all the rest of it, New Vegas again, the thing with Connor? The arguments with Miles and her mom? At the rail yard he’d turned his back on Neville to save her, left his own son behind to come back to Miles to help trap the guy who was leading the patriots. 

Why? Was it all just because of Miles? 

Was any of it about her? For her?

She needed to find out, had been going over it again and again in her mind for weeks, nothing else to do really. But she’d finally realised that it was why she’d been following him. She needed to know the truth, needed to know how he felt about her. 

Even if it wasn’t what she wanted to hear. 

She opened her eyes, from her angle on the floor she could see parts of the front door through table legs. She tried to picture him bursting in through this door to save her again but couldn’t. 

No one could save her now, unless she did it herself. So she stretched the ropes around her wrists again and again, rubbed her ankles together until she felt her skin break again sending blood streaming hot and wet over her fingers and into her boots. But instead of helping the ropes slip they just got tighter, stiffer. Just her luck. Neville had used some kind of pre-blackout nylon crap… 

Damn it, frustration threatened to overwhelm her again.

There were footsteps behind her, coming closer, deliberate and heavy, stopping just behind her.

She tensed, couldn’t help it. 

‘Well, isn’t this just a pretty, pretty picture?’ 

Ignoring the pain from the gag and the tie around her head, she turned her head a little so she could see. It was just enough for her to get a view up over those big, blocky boots he wore, up pants legs stained with who knows what, to a grimy, tattered shirt spattered with fresh blood stains she was pretty sure were hers and glare up at the smirking face high above her. 

She couldn’t say anything but she spat out her fury and defiance with her eyes, not caring if that made him even crazier. She refused to let him think he frightened her. She’d die first.

He chuckled, the sound grating on her ears and dropped down to a crouch, reaching out a hand to play with strands of her hair, letting the soft, tangled curls fall through his fingers.

A strangled protest escaped her lips, the gag making it sound wet, garbled. She tried to pull away but couldn’t.

‘You know, Julia’s hair was almost this colour? Paler maybe.’ His voice was low, musing, almost gentle. ‘But in the photo they showed me,’ his fingers tightened around a single strand, twisting and pulling it, forcing her head back, his voice harsh now, the part of his face she could see drawn into lines of anger and anguish, ‘it was the colour of dirt, of pain…’ He let go of her and stood back up. ‘But I guess that bit wasn’t your fault.’ He sounded far away now, his voice echoing around the room. ‘It was Monroe’s. And he’s going to pay, for that and for all the times he’s betrayed me and mine.’

Neville turned away and she closed her eyes in relief, heart pounding. 

For a moment she’d thought he was going to… that she was…

He spoke again, sounding further away, but not to her. ‘Jason?’ The name could’ve been a reminder, an accusation, but Neville sounded calm, matter of fact, as though he was actually talking to someone.

What was happening? 

Neville kept walking away, his steps fading, his next words floating back to her like some crazy surreal dream. 

‘There you are, son. Any sign of Monroe yet?’

She twisted round and stared after him, eyes searching the room. She could see Neville walking away but Jason wasn’t there and she honestly didn’t know what was worse, the possibility of some of her mom’s crazy nano stuff or a genuinely crazy Neville. 

…………………………

Bass shook his head. Nothing was good about this.

Through the binoculars, Neville was a shadowy figure inside the diner, looking out at the road through one of the big, dirty windows, talking to himself. Unfortunately, the guy was far enough back to make a shot difficult and dangerous for Charlie if he missed first time. Way, way too much glass. 

He hadn’t spotted her yet, figured that Tom would have her somewhere out of sight but he couldn’t take the risk of hitting her, or slicing her to pieces by accident if she was under a window. He had to find another way.

He lowered the glasses, swore softly and melted back into the cover of the trees.

Neville had chosen the place well. A typical faux vintage now real vintage American diner, there were picture windows around the outside giving an almost 360 view out from the restaurant although there were blind spots on the servery and rest room walls. The only ways in were through the front door, the delivery dock at the back, the staff exit by the delivery dock, the roof or in through one of the windows. It was getting late too, soon it’d be dark and the thought of Neville alone with Charlie at night made his skin crawl. 

His eyes narrowed. Neville was crazy, unpredictable and blamed Charlie for the death of his son. Things could go very bad for her very quickly.

Damn it. 

If he had Miles along it’d be simple. There were a dozen plans from a dozen towns that’d work just dandy. But he was on his own.

He’d have to improvise, and fast. 

………………………….

Monroe was coming? 

Charlie’s heart was pounding so fast it hurt, her mind in a whirl with a mixture of hope and confusion. Maybe he’d been coming here all along? Maybe he was working with Neville again? But she couldn’t believe that. And Neville had said Monroe was going to pay for betraying him. That wasn’t the talk of someone waiting for a partner.

It was time for a show of faith.

She glanced around, all she could see from this angle were scattered chairs and table legs. She wasn’t high enough to see out of the windows. But if Monroe was coming, and from what Neville had said that could be very soon, she had to find a way to warn him, let him know where she was. 

There had to be something she could use, something she could do. 

She twisted round, shuffling her hip along the floor, pushing herself along on her side with shoulders and feet and managing to move herself like a worm in a kind of slide squirm semi-circle. It was slow going but at least she was moving.

Then as she got past the next table her eyes lit on a larger than life and twice as dusty statue of Uncle Sam standing a couple of windows up, close enough for her to get to if she worked at it… She grinned around the gag. Hell yeah, that’d do it. 

She got going again, feeling better already, she just had to get in position and wait for the right time.

It felt really good to have a plan.

………………………….

Tom Neville watched the road, hungry for Monroe to arrive. Soon he would have his revenge on Monroe for what had happened to Julia, for making his son almost turn away from him, for starting the republic and then destroying it, and for so many, many other things. 

‘Tom?’ It wasn’t Jason. The voice was light, female, distinctive and very close. ‘You need to leave. Now.’

He froze. It couldn’t be. His eyes widened and he felt a cold, cold shiver run down his spine. ‘Julia?’ He was afraid to look but turned anyway, he had no choice.

Tall, slim, elegant in a pale silk gown and as beautiful as his best memories of her, his wife stood where Jason had been a moment before. She was smiling, that gentle, implacable smile she always wore when she’d made a decision and wanted him to do something about it. Taking a small step towards him, she filled his sight, her hand lifting as though she was going to cradle his cheek, her eyes gazing into his. ‘Things have changed, Tom. You have to leave the girl and go, right now. or it’ll be too late.’

The world fractured again, the chasm yawning at his feet, this time almost pulling him under. ‘No…’ He fought his way back, shook his head, realising as his heart shattered and broke apart that she was a lie, that Jason had been a lie too, ghosts born of grief and madness. His wife and his son were both gone, both dead. 

He looked around and he was alone. No Jason. No Julia. All he had left was revenge, right here, right now. This was the best and maybe the only chance he’d get because he was nearly finished, nearly done. 

There was no way he could leave.

‘Tom? I know you’re in there.’ The voice was male this time, coming from the road outside the diner. He knew that voice too. 

It was Monroe. He was here. Finally.

Neville swung round, aimed his rifle and fired, smashing the windows into a million sparkling fragments, firing once, twice, three times, more… shooting blindly, frantically, wasting bullets before he got himself under control and forced his finger off the trigger, his breath coming in harsh gasps that sounded flat and muffled after the roar of the gun. 

He stared out from behind one of the diner’s concrete pillars, through the empty window frame, through drops of glass falling like slow rain, but couldn’t see anyone or anything out of place. Just the rusted trucks and an empty road and the long shadows of evening. 

Monroe could be anywhere. Unless he was a ghost too?

“Tom, let the girl go. You can have me, that’s what you want isn’t it? Why you brought me here? ’ Monroe’s voice was closer now, just outside the door. He sounded very alive. Not a ghost.

Neville fired again, kept firing until the gun clicked empty, the door exploding, splinters flying everywhere, landing on his shirt, his pants, his hair even his face. He didn’t bother brushing them off.

Behind him, another window shattered, this time from the back of the room. Neville spun around but couldn’t see anything past the columns in the gloom. It couldn’t be Monroe, was it the girl? But how? Did Monroe have help? 

Was Miles here too? 

He ran towards where he’d left the Matheson girl, tripping over chairs in the half light, shoving tables and more chairs out of the way, rifle raised, reaching into his pocket for another magazine. If Miles was there or if Monroe got there first he had nothing left…nothing. He fell over something, landed heavily, the new magazine skittering away across the floor. Beyond fury, beyond thinking, cursing and yelling, he fumbled in his pockets for another as he struggled to get up, his boots skidding on the linoleum and the world spinning into chaos and damnation.

…………………………..

Charlie slumped back onto the ground, exhausted, bits of broken glass from the window crunching under her legs and boots. Uncle Sam had been heavy, really heavy but it’d worked, better than she’d hoped and worth the effort it’d taken to lever herself up and push the thing through the window. 

She just hoped it wasn’t for nothing. There’d been a hell of a lot of shooting out front and she didn’t know if Monroe or Neville were even still alive. 

She kept going anyway. On the floor behind her, her fingers found a piece of glass and she picked it up, ignoring the edges of it slicing her skin. At least she could get herself free. She started working on the ropes holding her hands to her ankles, breath coming in harsh gasps, sawing faster as the whole place started echoing with furniture banging and crashing and then the sound of heavy footsteps coming towards her, Neville yelling something she couldn’t work out at the top of his voice.

Shit. He was coming. She kept going, felt the ropes start to give way.

Neville was screaming, raging, yelling out her name now, swearing and yelling at Monroe and even Miles. He sounded as though he’d lost it completely and she knew that if he got to her this time she was finished. Working harder, faster, she felt the ropes split, could move her arms now and started on freeing her ankles, urgency giving her strength she didn’t think she still had.

The crackle of glass being swept away from wood made her stop and look up at the broken window straight into Monroe’s blazing blue eyes, the last rays of sunlight behind him making the sword he held in his right hand look like it was edged in flames.

Oh my God…Her eyes drank him in. He was real. He’d come for her. 

He vaulted in, brushing past the fallen Uncle Sam and ran to her, sword high, dipping down, his free hand gripping her shoulder, his fingers hot and hard and for a moment, she thought she felt his lips grazing her hair. 

Then he was gone.

Hope blazed in her heart as bright as his eyes and she pulled herself around, using the last of her strength to turn so she could see him finish it, because she knew he would, had no doubt of it. 

Monroe’s tall, muscular figure slammed full speed into Neville, the two men grunting and grappling in the center of the room, fists, tables and chairs flying in all directions, blood spattering into the air, then she saw Neville’s gun skating over the floor, his screams echoing in her ears as it flew out of reach.

Then as everything went dark, and in a weird parallel to Pottsboro, Charlie saw Neville fall backwards onto a table, his arms flailing in a last, desperate effort to stop the inevitable because Monroe was standing above him, sword held high, and the blade was falling like a lightning bolt down into Neville’s chest and all the way through. 

She watched as Neville’s arms fell, his body going limp, sliding boneless off the table onto the floor.

It was over.

The last thing she saw was Monroe’s face as he strode towards her, triumph and something much more primal than that mixed in his eyes and shining through the blood dripping from his scalp, over his face and down over his beard.

Then everything went black.

……………………………


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s note:  
> Hi there and thanks so much for reading, for your kudos and lovely comments, hope you like how it winds up. Cheers and love. Stay safe… 

Somewhere close by there was rain falling on wood, rocks and grass, she could hear it, smell it, and a fire, warming her skin and fragrant with the scent of meat cooking. 

Charlie opened her eyes, sat up, instantly regretted it and sank back against whatever it was she was propped up on. Looking up, she was in some kind of shed or maybe a stable? It was shelter anyway. Not far above her was a sloping tin roof and water dropping steadily in little runnels from the eaves into the dark outside. She took a deep breath and sat up again, slowly, a hand gingerly going to the bit of scalp above her ear, dried blood crackling under her fingers. 

Ow… her head felt like crap, ok, everything felt like crap. 

‘Hey…Take it easy.’ Monroe was sitting on his bed roll on her right, near the fire, stirring a cooking pot. Another bigger pot full of water hung on a tripod over the coals to the side. He glanced at her, then back at what he was doing, the lines of his face stark in the firelight. The fire cast flickering shadows over broad shoulders, folded lean body and long legs, making his hair and short beard glow and the little, golden hairs on his forearm below the rolled up sleeves of his shirt sparkle as he moved. 

She looked at him. Ok. She was alive, Neville was dead and she was sitting semi-conscious around a fire with Sebastian Monroe after he’d rescued her from certain death. Again. 

There were dark bruises on his cheeks and chin and a cut above his left ear was still bleeding a little, making his hair look darker there. But apart from that he looked good, really good. She was staring, she knew it but couldn’t help it, her mind flying off into weird tangents, imagining him naked like he’d been in that hallway, with the fire playing over his bare skin, that lean, muscular body.... 

He put the spoon down, looked over at her again and tossed her his water bottle. ‘Drink.’

Shit. Shaken out of her day dream, for a moment she just sat there, then the déjà vu of it rolled over her like a wave of more weirdness and she laughed, although it came out more like a pig snorting. 

He had the grace not to comment but quirked an eyebrow, ‘I know. Crazy isn’t it?’

She reached for the water bottle with hands that were so stiff her fingers trembled, but managed to pick it up anyway, liking that he didn’t try to help. Then she somehow got the cap off and brought it to her lips, spitting out the first mouthful to get the taste of the gag out of her mouth. 

After that, the water tasted like heaven. 

She finished the bottle, licked lips that were swollen and still dry. ‘Is there any more?’ Her voice was hoarse, rusty and the back of her throat felt like someone had used a rasp on it.

He shook his head, calmly stirring the pot. ‘Not yet, give your belly time to get used to that lot first.’

Damn it. She almost argued on principle but knew he was right. ‘Whiskey?’

‘Yeah, but not to drink, we’ll need it to clean you up.’

She made a face, ‘what, all of it?’

He stopped stirring, hand poised over the pot and looked at her full on this time, serious. ‘Have you looked at yourself?’

She looked down. Oh. Her entire body seemed to be a ragged, bloodstained mess, her clothes torn and filthy and her hair hanging in stiff, rancid strands around her face. It was like she’d been dragged through a swamp. But on the good side, her boots were ok, mostly, her leather jacket was ripped but mendable and her chain belt had somehow survived. Yay. She shrugged, winced, went back to just sitting. ‘It’s not that bad.’

He shook his head, but his lips were twitching. ‘God, you are so like Miles, he’d say something like that.’

She tried a grin, carefully, winced again as the movement opened a split on her bottom lip. ‘Maybe, but Aaron says I’m better looking.’

He choked off a laugh. ‘Not going to argue with Staypuft, especially when he’s right.’ The laughter slid into something else as his eyes roved from her eyes to her lips, down to her breasts and back again. He cleared his throat, ladled some stew into a bowl, added a spoon and slid it across the dirt floor towards her, ‘Here, eat. You’ll need it. Then we’ll get you cleaned up, I found clothes in your saddle bags.’ 

He thought Aaron was right? Although that didn’t really mean much, just that he thought she was better looking than Miles, even like this. She gazed back at him, swimming in those blue eyes, in the tension that seemed to make the air vibrate between them…then realized what else he’d said. She blinked. ‘Saddle bags?’

He tipped his head towards the back of the shed. ‘Your mare found me a while back, she’s in a stall over there with my guy.’ He shrugged again, his eyes glinting with humor and an equal amount of speculation. ‘I figured out you were behind me the first night out of Willoughby and thought you’d come around when you were ready to talk, but when she turned up on her own I went looking for you.’

‘Oh....’ He’d found her horse. For some stupid reason that brought a lump to her throat. She sucked it back in. And he’d known she was following him from the first night? Damn it. That explained why he hadn’t worried much about security those first few days, he knew she’d be onto it, and she’d bet anything he’d been waiting her to slip up, to make a mistake like she did before, and he’d been dead right about that because she’d walked right into Neville. She blew out a breath, he was sitting there waiting for her to ask but she tried not to sound too curious. ‘How did you know I was behind you?’ 

He smirked and shrugged a shoulder. ‘You’re not as good at tracking as you think.’ He pointed at the bowl, ‘now eat.’

She made a face, didn’t move. ‘Very funny. Are you going to repeat everything you said after Pottsboro?’ 

‘Maybe.’ He leaned towards her, serious. ‘Pottsboro sucked, but those weeks on the road with you are some of the most uncomplicated memories I have.’ He turned away and fiddled with the fire. ‘I don’t mind reliving some of them.’

She stared at him, realized that she felt the same. The time of the road with him after Pottsboro had been kind of fun if she was honest, something contrary in her enjoying the fact that she was traveling with the biggest, baddest guy around and taking him home to meet the folks. Except that pretty soon she’d started dreaming of jumping his bones. All the time. Even during the day sitting next to him on that damned wooden bench. But she hadn’t made a move because, hey, Monroe. She shrugged, ‘didn’t say I minded, it’s just a bit weird, that’s all. ’

He chuckled, ‘that’s the definition of life, right there.’ then pointed at the bowl again. ‘Now eat that before it gets cold.’

‘Ok, General.’ She picked up the bowl of stew, took a mouthful and chewed, swallowed, took another and another, feeling better with every bite and chewing as she spoke. ‘It’s good.’ 

‘Don’t sound so surprised, I’m a pretty good cook even if I do say so myself.’ He ladled some into his own bowl. ‘But there’s nothing like being hungry. Makes everything taste better.’

‘Can’t argue with that.’ Now that she had some strength back, she looked around, the camp looked well set up, tidy, organized. ‘How long was I out?’

‘A night and a day, but don’t worry, I was...’

‘…a perfect gentleman?’ She did the pig snort laugh again, couldn’t help it. and it didn’t help either that he was laughing too. 

She got herself back in control again because she needed to say something. ‘Thanks for coming to get me. ’

He stopped laughing. ‘It was close. If you hadn’t broken that window, he could’ve got to you before I did.’ 

She shuddered at the thought of that. ‘He kept talking to Jason, he sounded crazy.’ 

Monroe’s eyes filled with shadows and not from the fire. ‘He’d lost his wife and son. His whole family. That can do very bad things to a person.’ He got busy adding wood to the fire, checking how hot the water in the other pot was.

She looked across the fire at his face, saw the lines of old pain and new. ‘I guess so. Miles told me what happened to you, but you didn’t go crazy like Neville.’

He glanced up. ‘Yes, I did. You know I did. Worse.’ 

She felt a strange need to defend him. ’But you got over it. Tried to make up for the things you did.’

He made a face, looked away, ‘there’s a lot of blood on my hands, Charlie, some of it yours. You don’t get over that, you just learn to live with it’. He reached for another log from the pile behind him and put it on the fire. ‘And as for making up for what I did?’ He shook his head. ‘I haven’t even come close.’

‘You saved me.’ She knew that sounded selfish but didn’t care.

His lips curved in a smile that made his eyes very bright. ‘You’re worth saving, and besides, Miles would’ve killed me if anything happened to you on my watch.’ He reached out a hand, ‘here, pass me the water bottle, I’ll fill it up.’

No one had said that she was worth saving before. Not even Miles or her mom. Something iced up inside her started to melt, her eyes stinging and hot with tears. She put her bowl down and passed him the bottle and as she did her fingers were wrapped in his. His hand was warm, strong, calloused on hers and for a moment he was really close, his eyes catching the light from the fire, little flames dancing in the pupils, the spicy, woodsmoke scent of him teasing her nose.

He took the bottle, letting her fingers slide out from under his. ‘You ok?’ His voice was low, a little hoarse. 

She nodded, blinking hard and swiped at her eyes with the back of a hand. Damn stupid tears. If she wasn’t careful she’d end up crying on his shoulder. She chewed at her lip, focusing on the embers in the fire as he filled the bottle and put it on the ground between them, trying to think of anything else but him maybe actually caring about what happened to her. ‘It’s been a big couple of days.’

He looked at her for a long moment, then nodded back, ‘yeah.’ 

And for a while there was silence, except for the rain, the scrape of spoon on bowl, the fire crackling and the occasional snort from the horses. 

For the first time in a long, long while, Charlie felt almost peaceful. Safe. She didn’t have to be alert and ready to fight all the time because he was there with her. It was a strange feeling, and maybe just a reaction to almost getting killed again? It was hard to know for sure. She put her bowl down, it was empty, cleaned out, her belly full, one question on her mind. ‘Was it just because of Miles?’ 

He looked back at her across the fire for a long, long moment, then took a deep breath in and shook his head, slowly. ‘No.’ He ran a hand through his hair, ‘but if we’re up to asking the hard questions, why were you following me half way across the map?’

Shit. There went the peaceful. She sucked in a breath and blew it out. ‘I don’t know. You weren’t doing anything with Miles, you weren’t doing anything for Blanchard, you were just hanging around with all those women, then one day you just up and left without telling anyone, what was I supposed to do?’

‘You weren’t supposed to do anything, but for your information, Miles was so far up Rachel’s ass he couldn’t see his dick and Blanchard was busy being all Presidential. I was bored out of my skull.’ He leaned towards her, eyes narrowed, almost accusing. ‘So it was you following me around the last few weeks in Willoughby. I knew I felt eyes on me. You were stalking me, Charlie. Why? ’

She shrugged, looking anywhere but at him. ‘I…’ 

He was angry now, vibrating with it, but a bone deep hurt hid behind the anger. ‘I went up against my own son to come and help you and Miles corner the fucking patriots. If you thought I was up to something bad, why didn’t you just ask me?’

‘I don’t know, things were kind of confused, I didn’t know how to ask...’ She felt her face go red. ‘Maybe I was bored too and lonely, and following you around was a whole lot better than drinking myself stupid every night.’

He went very still. ‘You were lonely so you followed me around?’ 

She nodded, still not meeting his eyes. Exhaustion and emotion threatening to overwhelm her again. ‘Yeah.‘

He was angry again, but not with her this time. ‘Fuck. Fuck Miles and your Mom too. They didn’t even notice what was happening with you, did they?’

She shook her head, this time meeting his eyes, not expecting the understanding she found there. ‘You’re not angry with me?’

‘No.’ He leaned towards her. ‘Charlie, you’ve been through some really heavy shit, and I’m sorry that none of us noticed that you were having trouble dealing.’ He sucked in a breath, ‘and I’m even more sorry that I was too busy fucking my way through Willoughby trying not to think about you to put two and two together and come and find you before you saw…’ He stopped, then started again. ‘What did you see anyway?‘ 

Everything? Remembering some of the details, she tried to stop her dimple flashing, failed, hid it with a cough. ‘A bit. Some of it was pretty educational actually.’ Inside her heart was pounding with relief and something like hope. He’d been doing all that stuff because he was trying not to think about her? And he didn’t blame her, hadn’t left her when he found out what she’d done. 

‘Educational?’ He looked a bit taken aback. 

‘Yeah, you did some things I didn’t know people could… you know, do with each other?’

He opened his mouth to say something, didn’t. Then he started laughing and just kept going, his head thrown back, teeth straight and very white, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

She watched, not quite sure whether to join in or be offended. He was taking the fact that she’d stalked him a lot better than she’d thought he would but he’d laugh a whole lot louder if he knew the effort she’d had to go to sometimes to get a good view. The memory of crawling up onto that roof and a few other much trickier places made her bite her lip, maybe sometime she’d tell him, just to see him laugh again.

Eventually he stopped, ran a hand over his face and through his hair ‘Charlie, you are something else…’ He shook his head and got to his feet. ‘Ok. We need to get you cleaned up. I’ll get the medical kit, then I’ll help you out of those clothes and we’ll see what needs fixing.’ 

She stared up at him, it was stupid after everything that had happened, but she suddenly felt shy. Everything had happened so quickly. Her confession, his too. Not to mention she had a bra on, but wasn’t wearing anything under her jeans but skin. ‘It’s ok, I can do it.’ Which was a lie, she’d had trouble holding her spoon straight through dinner. 

He knew it too, wasn’t letting her get away with it. ‘Don’t get bashful on me now, Charlotte, not after what you’ve just told me.’ He gazed down at her, his eyes lazy, wicked, a little smile playing around his lips. ‘I think you owe me some education.’

…………………………..

The rain was steady and the sound of water trickling in the quiet after he’d gone triggered other things, urgent things. Damn it. She got to her feet, somehow, and leaning on anything she could reach stumbled to the outside and to a big tree, managing to sort things out, just. But after she finished she realized that walking back was not going to be an option. 

She sank to the ground, head pounding, legs turned to putty, rain falling on her face and dripping down her hair into her eyes, making them sting, water trickling down her back and into her boots. It was getting cold and she was shivering.

‘What the fuck… Charlie? Where are you?’ It was Monroe inside the shed, and he sounded loud and pissed again. 

She was too tired and sore to worry. It wasn’t her fault if she had to go. She got to her knees, bracing herself with one arm and lifted the other, her hand reaching out. ‘Over here.’ Even her voice sounded wet.

She heard splashing, footsteps coming closer. 

Then he was there, looking down at her with furious blue eyes. ‘Damn it, Charlie, What were you thinking? That was fucking stupid.’ He bent down and picked her up, his arms hard and strong behind her shoulders, under her knees.

She looked up at him as he strode back to the shed, her head pillowed on his shoulder, the rest of her held firmly against his chest. The rain was trickling down his face and he still looked angry, but his hands were gentle. 

‘I needed to go out.’ She blinked raindrops away from her eyes, licked them off her lips.

He ducked to go under the eaves, his face coming up close to hers, ‘you should’ve told me. What if something happened and I couldn’t find you?’ He put her down on his bedroll, the fire hot, making her shiver as it heated the water on her skin. 

She was suddenly very tired. ‘Couldn’t wait, couldn’t go in here. But I’m ok, really.’ 

He took a deep breath and sat down next to her. ‘Listen. When you’re fit again, you can do whatever you damn well want. If you don’t want to go back to Willoughby yet and you want to ride with me, we can go anywhere, do anything you like. I happen to think we’d make a good team.’ He leaned in towards her, all Monroe intensity, ‘but for now, just let go of that Matheson stubborn streak and let me take care of you, ok? 

There was worry in his eyes. For her. She wondered if he knew how much that meant. She looked up at him. Nodded. ‘I’ll try.’ 

He let out a breath and nodded, ‘fair enough.’ He reached down and unrolled the medical kit, then poured a measure of whiskey from the bottle standing next to it into a mug, offering it to her. ‘Here, drink this, you’ll need it.’

She tossed it back, relished the burn as it went down, held the mug out for another.

After that things were a bit of a blur but she was aware of his hands on her, careful and almost impersonal as he cut away the sodden, blood soaked remnants of her tank, bra and jeans, heard his breath catch…

Then things went black again.

……………………………..

Three days later.

It was dawn, the rain was gone and the sun shone in under the eaves of the shed sending bright shafts of dusty gold and pink across the floor. 

Suddenly awake, Charlie yawned and sat up, the movement easy and smooth with just the slightest pull on her shoulders, back and other bits and the smallest twinge from the wound on her head. Feeling better than she had in days, she looked around. His bedroll was empty. ‘Monroe?”

No answer.

Getting up, she wrapped the blanket around her like a poncho over the floppy tee she wore to sleep in, shoved her feet into her boots and walked out, ducking under the low roof and out into the open. The sun held the promise of heat later but right now the air was cool and fresh on her face.

The clearing around the front of the shed was empty except for the horses grazing near the edge of the trees.

‘Monroe?’ She called again.

Still no answer, but she could hear a familiar sound from round the back and walked towards it.

He was over by a pile of fallen logs about twenty feet away from the shed, shirtless, his back to her as he split wood for the fire. Moving with a smooth, powerful, easy rhythm, he placed the logs with one hand, the axe rising and falling in the other, blade glinting in the sunlight and woodchips spinning as he tossed them onto a neat, growing pile. Sweat made his skin gleam and glisten, the muscles underneath chiseled, taut and strong, the scars from the thing Connor had done to him in Mexico pale stripes against the tan of the rest of him. 

Charlie leaned against the back wall of the shed and watched, absorbed, her eyes following every move, every twist and thrust, every strike. 

He was working faster now, the old jeans he was wearing starting to slip down over his hips, slowly revealing a small triangle of shadow where the cleft between his ass cheeks began. The skin was paler around it, dusted with fine, golden hairs that glistened like little hands waving. The pants dropped lower, every stroke of the axe revealing more of the smooth, tight masculine curves of his ass, the flesh trembling a little with every stroke of the ax.

Oh… Her head tipped to the side, teeth playing with her bottom lip.

For the last few days he’d been the perfect gentleman. But things were different now. She needed him to be something else. 

He stopped chopping, put the axe down and pulled his pants up with an impatient hand, then he paused, going very still.

She grinned, had been wondering how long it’d take him to realize she was there. 

He swung around to face her, all lithe, muscular and dangerous male, his eyes fixed on her, alert, carefully neutral. But he didn’t move, waiting for her.

She was done with waiting, dropped the blanket and in one fast movement pulled the tee up and over her head, shook her hair out and stood there in just her boots, the breeze making her nipples hard, although it could just have been him…

And the predatory, totally primal look on his face as he stalked towards her. 

She was confident in her body, even covered in healing bruises, knew she was the kind of woman he liked, the kind of woman he liked to fuck. But she was also Charlotte Matheson, and that meant something more to him. She knew that now. 

He was almost on her, his eyes blazing into hers and she couldn’t have moved even if she wanted to, ripples rocketing from her toes to the tips of her fingers, her belly button the anchor point for a string that pulled her towards him as he came towards her.

He smiled, the tip of his tongue dipping out to wet his lips. His eyes letting go of hers so he could look at the other parts of her, his hands reaching out to stroke down her arms, then back up, leaving the little hairs on her arms quivering, running the backs of his fingers over her shoulders and down to her breasts and her belly, making the soft flesh tremble.

‘Charlie…’ 

‘Hey.’ Her lips were open, waiting, already swollen, moist…other parts of her were too, she could feel them, liquid, wanting him so badly she could hardly wait.

He snaked an arm around her waist, pulling her in close, his hand dropping to stroke her ass, his fingers rough skinned, hard, rough with need, his other hand reaching in to circle her throat, his thumb stroking her cheek. ‘That was some entrance.’ His voice was low, rough as his fingers.

‘I thought you’d like it.’ She looked up at him, spreading her hands over his chest, letting them slide over sweat soaked, hair roughened skin, feeling the hard muscles flex and move under her fingers. She could feel something else hard too, the thick ridge of him pressed against her hip. She reached down with one hand and stoked, felt him pulse and grow and get even harder under her fingers. 

He sucked in a sharp breath, the hand on her ass clenching, digging in to the springy flesh. ‘You were right,’ 

Then his arms were under her thighs and she was in the air, looking down at him, her hands on his shoulders and her legs spread wide around his hips, somehow holding on with her boots hooked around his waist as he swung around and backed up against the wall, one hand frantically working on his buttons below her.

Then she felt the thick head of him at her entrance and she was sliding down, down over thick, hard, hot flesh into sensations that sent everything she knew flying…

………………

Sometime later, back inside the shed on a bed thrown together made up of their bedrolls, blankets and whatever else was around and wrapped in arms that held her spooned back against his hard muscled frame, she opened her eyes to find him looking down at her. Things between them had been good. Really good. Would keep on being good if she had anything to do with it.

‘So what now?’ He was watching her, watching the thoughts as they moved across her face his blue gaze clear, soft, but intent on her answer.

She shrugged, her lips curving in a smug smile. ‘You said that if I wanted to ride with you we could go anywhere?’

He nodded, intrigued, satisfied. ‘Yes, I did. So where are we going?’ He reached down and brushed a lock of hair away from her face.

‘I’ve never been to California.’

………………………

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi again, and I wanted to give them a happy ending (or beginning?). It's been lovely seeing some new, fantastic stories coming out about Charlie and Bass, my all time favourite OTP. Maybe I'll see you again at another one of mine, anyway, cheers and wishing you all the very besr, Magpie


End file.
